


Mayday, Mayday

by Siempie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Gen, L'Manburg Election, Pogtopia, bamf tommy, minecraft but its realistic, please can i have... validation? 👉👈, wilbur gets fucking shot asmr, wilbur is having a bad time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siempie/pseuds/Siempie
Summary: Wilbur could not have expected things to go THIS wrong. Honestly. The arrow in his chest didn't give him much time to philosophize about that, though.Wilbur gets shot. Tommy does his best.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 401





	Mayday, Mayday

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm posting this because I crave validation like Techno craves clout. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> \- Blood  
> \- Severe illness

Wilbur… honestly hadn’t expected this. 

He hadn’t known  _ what  _ to expect. The mood whiplash of seeing POG2020 in the lead with 45% of the vote… to doing the math in his head and feeling his hands start to tremble as he realized the union between Schlatt’s and Quackity’s campaigns meant they would have a combined  _ 46%... _

It was still tough to wrap his head around. Even as he read out the results, even as he watched Tommy stop his celebratory dance to stare in shock, even as he watched Tubbo go pale, even as he heard Schlatt’s laughter behind him… it didn’t feel real. 

He was still kind of out of it when he sat down in his seat, demoted to citizen, with Tommy shaking him by the shoulder and frantically begging for answers, questions like “Is this real?” “Is this really happening?” “Did we just lose?” “Is that even  _ allowed?!”  _ coming out in stuttered fragments. 

(It was allowed. Wilbur had set the rules of this election himself, he didn’t plan for this,  _ why didn’t he plan for this?!) _

He stuck his trembling hands in his pockets, his right one immediately finding the Declaration of Independence. The document that made L’manberg what it was. What would it even be worth after this?

Schlatt took the podium. He was grinning, with the confidence of a man who had irrevocably, unquestionably,  _ won _ . 

“Well…” he said, his words echoing around the square, smug confidence dripping off of every word. “That was pretty easy.” 

Wilbur’s hands clenched into fists, blood rushing to his head. He didn’t hear what Schlatt said next as his thoughts were consumed with  _ how fucking dare you you cheater you liar you rigged the fucking vote you and quackity did this to spite me you don’t deserve to be up there. _ He bit his tongue until the taste of copper filled his mouth, to stop himself from spilling profanities that should not be taught to the sixteen year-old sitting next to him.

“Wilbur?” Tommy’s trembling voice cut through the red haze in his mind. “Wilbur are you s- wh-”

“My first decree!” Schlatt proclaimed, standing at the mic like he was born to do it. “As the President of L’manberg… no…” He leaned forward, gripping the podium and grinning like a madman. “THE  _ EMPEROR _ ! OF THIS GREAT COUNTRY!”

People gasped around them. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Wilbur felt his hands go clammy, his rage fading away, replaced with raw, cold fear as realization set in. Schlatt was the most power-hungry person Wilbur knew, he’d do ANYTHING if it meant he’d come out on top, and Wilbur had just  _ handed him the keys to his nation this was a mistake this whole election was a gigantic mistake _

“IS TO REVOKE!” Schlatt let a dramatic pause fall, soaking up the attention, the anticipation, Wilbur could practically  _ see  _ the stars in his eyes… “THE CITIZENSHIP OF  _ WILBUR SOOT  _ AND  _ TOMMY INNIT!” _

...

Time seemed to freeze.

Wilbur couldn’t hear, the sounds drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He saw Tommy leap out of his seat, screaming at the stage in that high-pitched, screechy tone he took when he was absolutely  _ terrified _ , but he couldn’t make out the words.

Slowly, everyone turned to stare at them. Schlatt’s gaze bored into Wilbur’s brain, the crazed grin never leaving his face. Tubbo looked horrified. Niki’s hands had covered her mouth. 

Ponk and Punz pulled out their crossbows. 

It was like ice water had been poured over Wilbur’s head as his body released a tidal wave of adrenaline into his bloodstream. He grabbed Tommy by the wrist and started to  _ sprint, _ no clue where he was going, just  _ away, away, away. _

He heard the crossbows fire. 

Tommy ducked under the first arrow. The second smacked into the grass next to Wilbur’s foot. 

A third arrow hit Wilbur square in the arm.

He let out a howl as white hot agony punched a hole through his body. He stumbled and fell to his knees, but Tommy was at his side in an instant, yanking him back onto his feet and screaming at him to keep going. Wilbur took a glance back and saw there, on the stage, George notching another arrow onto his bow. 

Flames had burst from the arrow embedded deep in his arm, and were now spreading to his hair and clothes, but he continued to run, desperately trying to smack the fire out. No time to stop, drop and roll, no time to get water, no time to take care of the arrow embedded in his body, because Schlatt’s voice was ringing in his ears and Tommy was running beside him and another crossbow bolt skimmed past his ear. 

He pulled Tommy into the walls of L’manberg, because that’s where his little lizard brain knew home was, but home was now ruled by a madman,  _ home was no longer safe! _

Tommy threw them both into the lake. 

The fire hissed as it went out, the cold of the water overwhelming his senses. The pain, muted by the adrenaline, suddenly hit him full-force, and he cried out, what little air he’d managed to get into his lungs bubbling out of his mouth and up to the surface. 

Wilbur had barely gotten his head above water before Tommy shoved the end of a bottle in his mouth. “Drink, Wilbur, drink, drink!” He shouted, quickly yanking the cork out of another bottle and chugging the entire thing. The more he drank, the more transparent he became, until the only indication he was even there was the conspicuous, Tommy-shaped hole where water wouldn’t flow. 

Wilbur managed to shove down the adrenaline just long enough to take one, big gulp.

Then, pain exploded in his chest. He screamed again, but when he gasped for air, his next breath was shallow and wet. He couldn’t breathe, he felt like he was still under water even though his head was above the surface. 

He coughed, but the air that came out was mixed with the taste of copper as blood filled his throat. 

He barely registered the second arrow sticking out of his chest, barely heard Tommy screaming, but very clearly felt himself losing his grip on the thing he’d been clenching in his fist. He barely noticed invisible arms dragging him through the water as his vision slowly went dark.

The last thing he saw was the Declaration of Independence, floating in the water, until Eret’s fingers closed around the cover.

* * *

Tommy wheezed as he dragged Wilbur’s limp body out of his makeshift tunnel, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. Quickly, he fell to his knees, digging through his pack with trembling hands. He pulled out a bottle of red, swirling liquid, yanked the cork out with his teeth and poured its contents directly onto the gaping wound in Wilbur’s chest. 

There was a sizzle, and Wilbur’s face contorted in pain, but the bleeding from his chest slowed and he seemed to be breathing easier, so that was good. 

Tommy gasped for breath, his head spinning as he struggled to get oxygen into his lungs. He’d have to move, fucking  _ quickly _ . His invisibility potion was pretty much useless, he was so coated in dirt, blood and potion spills that he was visible from a mile away. Plus, Wilbur had only gotten a single gulp of the potion down, meaning he was only slightly transparent.

He heard shouting in the distance, heard Schlatt’s voice over the loudspeaker, demanding Tubbo find Tommy and Wilbur. Quickly, while swallowing back furious tears, Tommy crouched down and lifted Wilbur up, maneuvering him around until he was secured on Tommy’s back.

Tommy’s knees immediately started to shake as he stood up. Wilbur was not only older, but also bigger and heavier than him. Plus, Tommy had already dragged Wilbur into Tubbo’s bunker, raided the bunker for enough healing potions to stop him from drowning in his own blood, and dug a tunnel to the surface, which he then carried Wilbur through as well. 

Tommy was running on pure adrenaline at this point, but that tended to go a long way. So, he hoisted Wilbur up higher so his feet wouldn’t be dragging on the ground, and started into the forest at a slow jogging pace. 

He could still hear Schlatt through the loudspeakers. He could hear Schlatt call Tubbo onto the stage, could hear him whisper something, could hear Tubbo,  _ his _ best friend Tubbo, tell him to come back to the stage. He tried his very best not to cry as betrayal stabbed him through the heart. 

“Gentlemen!”

Speaking of betrayal. Tommy’s stomach sank, but he couldn’t afford to stop. He kept going, even as footsteps approached behind him. 

Eret ran in front of him, his eyes hidden behind his shades. “Tommy… listen, I can give you sanctuary-”

“Get the fuck away from us, Eret,” Tommy growled, refusing to even look him in the eyes.

“Tommy, he’s-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Tommy screamed, gasping for air as he stumbled another few steps forward. Wilbur’s shallow breaths felt hot in his neck, and he tried not to think about the warm, wet patch slowly soaking into the back of his uniform. 

Eret stared helplessly for a moment, clearly wrestling with himself. “...alright,” he eventually muttered, and quickly ran back the way he came. “THIS WAY, THEY WENT THIS WAY!” he yelled, running in the complete opposite direction. 

Tommy heard excited shouting as the hunting party followed Eret on his wild goose chase, and he couldn’t help but smile slightly. At least that traitorous bastard was good for something. 

Deeper into the forest they went, one foot in front of the other as Tommy focused all his attention on not getting turned around. The only sound he heard was the whooshing in his ears, his own labored breathing and Wilbur’s wheezy gasps and coughs. He was still coughing blood. God, Tommy hoped this was just leftover blood from earlier and that he wasn’t still bleeding into his lungs… and that his lung hadn’t fucking collapsed. He only knew basic first aid and whatever he remembered from those medical dramas Phil wouldn’t let him watch, he wasn’t a fucking surgeon! 

He kept going for as long as he could, but it was only a short while later that the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion set in. Tommy was drenched in sweat, his breathing labored and his legs trembling. He couldn’t go much further before he would collapse. 

So, Tommy set Wilbur down against a tree, and with what little strength he had left, he dug a small hole into the side of a hill. With the blocks left in his inventory, he made a crafting table, a furnace, and a bed, which he jammed into a corner. He lifted Wilbur up again, struggling against his wobbling knees and trembling arms, and quickly laid him down on the bed.

Tommy sat down, staring at Wilbur’s limp body, feeling the adrenaline slowly leave his system. He knew he should have been upset. Tubbo had betrayed him, they’d been kicked out of L’manburg and Wilbur was horribly wounded… He had every reason to want to cry. 

But he just felt numb. 

Whether it was because of the exhaustion, or whether the events of the day hadn’t sunk in yet, he didn’t know. And honestly, he didn’t want to dwell on it. Crying wouldn’t help Wilbur get better, and it wouldn’t help them survive in the wilderness.

So as the sun set, Tommy sealed up the hole in the wall, placed down a torch above the bed, fed Wilbur his last health potion, and curled up on the edge of the bed. 

He dreamt of blood, arrows, and cackling laughter.

* * *

The next few days were exhausting. 

Tommy would force his sore, sleep-deprived self to wake up in the early morning to go fishing. After gathering enough salmon to feed himself and Wilbur for the day, he’d retreat back into the hole in the mountain and tend to Wilbur’s wounds. He didn’t know much about first aid, and he only had two rolls of bandages in his pack, but he did know he needed to keep the wound clean and wrapped.

So, he filtered and boiled river water in a cauldron until he reckoned it was probably sterile, waited for it to cool, then carefully washed Wilbur’s wounds. After that, he wrapped them back up and pressed cold, wet rags against the burns. He boiled the dirty bandages until he was sure he’d gotten most of the dirt and blood out, hung them out to dry, then rolled them back up for the next day. 

Wilbur spent his time drifting in and out of consciousness. Tommy watched him closely, and whenever Wilbur was awake, he’d be right by his side, talking to him, giving him food, water and potions, and staying with him until he passed out again. Wilbur never spoke, and his eyes were always unfocused, but he did occasionally smile slightly or squeeze Tommy’s hand, which was good enough for him.

Tommy would then try to expand their little base a bit more, adding a chest and a few more furnaces, but not making a lot of progress since the noise tended to wake Wilbur up a lot, which then required his attention. He also took the occasional nap, though those never lasted very long before they were interrupted by nightmares or sounds of wildlife or Wilbur’s coughing fits shaking their shared bed. 

Then, at nightfall, he’d cover up the entrance and leave Wilbur to sleep, before sneaking back towards civilization. 

Whether he liked it or not, Wilbur’s health was clearly on the decline. His breathing was still labored, he still coughed blood on occasion, and it was obvious he was still in an immense amount of pain. Tommy needed to get healing potions to help him stabilize and recover, but he didn’t have anything to make them with. 

So, at night, he snuck into Dream’s storage rooms to steal potions. 

He knew it wasn’t the greatest idea to steal from Dream, but at least Dream didn’t have a death warrant out for him. Plus, his storage room was never guarded, while L’manburg was being patrolled 24/7. Especially after he stole Fundy’s horse. He refused to feel bad about that, he needed transportation and he’d heard the things Fundy had said when Schlatt took power. 

His nightly potion runs did give him a good look at what Schlatt was doing to L’manburg. Every time he left the treeline, something else was different, and every time he had to fight the urge to run up to the White House and tear Schlatt a new one. 

The first time he went out, he barely even recognized L’manburg. It took him a moment to realize exactly what he was looking at, as the blackstone walls surrounding their land were… gone. Just torn down to the last brick. 

The second night, the “Welcome to L’manburg” sign had been replaced. Now, it read “Welcome to Manburg”. Tommy had bitten his tongue until it bled, fury rising up in his throat as  _ how fucking dare he change the name he doesn’t know our history he doesn’t know shit wilbur picked that name he doesn’t have the fucking right. _

The third night, the flag was burning. Tommy saw it before he even left the forest, the flames lighting up the night sky, making his bone horse nervous. He didn’t know who lit the fire. Probably Schlatt. Either way, he swallowed the ball of seething rage threatening to rise up out of his throat, and took his usual route to Dream’s storage rooms. 

Tommy slept poorly. He tried to pretend it wasn’t because of the nightmares -  _ schlatt holding him by the arm, keeping him immobile as wilbur crawled towards him, staring at him with dead, glassy eyes, blood pouring out of his mouth, saying “your fault your fault your fault”  _ \- instead he figured it was the stress or his busy schedule. He tried to pretend he didn’t curl up against Wilbur’s chest like a baby whenever a nightmare woke him up screaming. The bed was cold, that was it. Bed was cold, Wilbur was warm, that’s why he kept waking up with his head tucked beneath Wilbur’s chin. 

But when he woke up on his fourth morning, he was sweating buckets on the other side of the bed. 

That was… very odd. Usually he and Wilbur ended up pressed against eachother during the night, but this time he could feel burning heat coming from the other side of the bed. Wilbur never felt  _ this  _ warm… did he? 

Tommy looked over, and his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Wilbur’s face was flushed and red, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth moving soundlessly. His breathing was labored and uneven, and Tommy barely even had to touch him to feel that he was burning with fever. 

Just as Tommy pressed his hand against his forehead, Wilbur started coughing… but didn’t stop. He coughed up blood and phlegm and a green-looking mucus, he coughed so hard it made him gag, and Tommy could do nothing but hold his hand, pat his back and wait for it to subside.

When Wilbur finally stopped coughing, gasping for breath as he fell back into unconsciousness, Tommy left the hole. He rushed over to the river, splashed some water into his face and tried his best not to scream.

It didn’t take a genius to see that Wilbur had pneumonia. 

Tommy had absolutely no clue how to treat pneumonia.

* * *

Tommy spent the next two days by Wilbur’s side. He barely slept, ate or hunted, all his time was spent taking care of Wilbur. 

Wilbur kept having horrible, fever-induced nightmares that had him thrashing around in bed, whimpering and gasping until he finally either woke up or slipped back under. He barely returned to consciousness anymore, and whenever he did, he pressed his lips together and turned his head away whenever Tommy pressed food to his mouth. Tommy couldn’t do anything but give him water or potions whenever he was aware enough to swallow, press cold rags to his forehead and neck, and talk or sing to him whenever a particularly bad nightmare left him writhing and crying, trapped in his own personal hell. 

Tommy got more reckless on his potion runs. He used to only take a few health potions at a time, but now he took as many as he could carry. Someone was bound to notice at some point, but at this point, he didn’t really care. Keeping Wilbur alive was his number one priority at the moment, nothing else mattered.

That ended up being a huge mistake.

Because when Tommy curled up on the edge of the bed after giving Wilbur another two potions, he heard footsteps outside. 

Slowly, his heart pounding in his throat, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his one weapon - an iron axe - and dug the dirt away again as quietly as he could. 

Someone was standing in the small clearing. They were carrying something.

“HANDS UP!” Tommy screamed, hating how his voice cracked. 

The person startled, dropping the thing they were holding and backing up towards the darkness of the forest. The thing hit the ground with a loud THUD, and Tommy flinched. 

“Who’re you? Show yourself!” He demanded.

The person seemed frozen. Slowly, they lifted their arms, as if to surrender... and hucked something small and round over the trees. Tommy stared in confusion, until the person waved and vanished in a flash of purple particles.

Ender pearl. Tommy dropped his axe, sighing as he sat down in the damp grass. Then, he punched himself in the head. Stupid, stupid, he’d been followed! Why hadn’t he been more careful?! Now he had to move their base… but Wilbur wasn’t even capable of sitting up, let alone travel to a whole new location. 

His gaze landed on the thing his visitor had dropped. It appeared to be a shulker box. Trapped? Probably.

Either way, Tommy lit a torch (no point in keeping the lights off if he’d already been discovered), and tapped the side, opening the shulker.

He almost dropped the torch in shock.

There was… so much stuff in here. Netherite armor, Netherite weapons, golden carrots, an enchanted crossbow, potions, a sealed box, and… a note. 

Tommy picked up the note, held the torch as close as he could without setting the paper on fire, and started to read. 

_ Tommy, I knew this time would probably come. _

_ For a kingdom that rules with kindness and not with might. No weapons, no armor, just a group of people… Schlatt does not follow these same principles. _

_ Schlatt wants weapons. Schlatt wants power. Schlatt wants to expand out into Dream SMP land. Schlatt wants to abolish the walls in order to take more and more land. _

_ Schlatt is no Wilbur. _

_ I don’t know if peace can be maintained between our two nations with Schlatt at the helm. _

_ Last time I tried to take a stand on behalf of Dream SMP I was touted as the villain. This time, I can’t involve myself. Schlatt is technically a democratically elected leader, and I can’t overthrow him. _

_ If you need my help, I am here, but it must be from the shadows. I can’t be caught breaking the peace treaty. Even though the people I made it with are no longer involved. _

_ I have trusted you with my most prized possession, which was used in our duel. Only fitting it be used to secure L’manburg’s freedom this time. _

_ I also included armor for you, as well as medication for Wilbur. Give him one bottle every two hours, until bottles run out. _

_ For now, farewell from the shadows. Be safe. _

_ \- Big D _

Tommy was frozen. Slowly, he picked up the crossbow, holding it up to the light. 

His very first prank after joining the Dream SMP, before Wilbur, or L’manburg, or the war, had been to carve the word “PENIS” into Dream’s favorite crossbow. Dream had been pissed, but eventually saw the humor in it, and, not wanting to let go of his crossbow, instead amended the statement with a carving of his own.

There, under the flickering torchlight, Tommy could clearly see the words etched into the crossbow. 

“DEFINITELY NOT PENIS”

He would have laughed if he didn’t feel like crying. Mechanically, he slung the crossbow over his shoulder, picked up the shulker, and carried it into their little hideout. 

Wilbur was somewhat awake. His cheeks were still flushed with fever and his gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but his eyes were open at least. His breathing was raspy and weak, tired of coughing, not enough oxygen coming in through his diseased lungs. 

Tommy set the shulker down in the middle of the room, ignoring the Netherite and proper food and potions of strength and invisibility and speed… instead going for the sealed box. He pulled it out, noticing the clinking of glass bottles as he lifted it out, and slowly opened the lid.

Pink. Pink, swirling liquid in glass bottles, cushioned by paper scraps to ensure nothing would break. 

Regeneration potions.

Tommy let out a gasp. Regeneration potions were…  _ stupidly  _ valuable. Hard to obtain, enormously powerful, people would murder for just a sip of one of these, and Dream had given him NINE FULL BOTTLES?! 

He didn’t allow himself the luxury of processing that emotionally. He grabbed a bottle, wincing at dirty fingerprints he left on the glass, and yanked out the cork.

“Hey, Wil…” Tommy whispered, approaching Wilbur’s bedside. Wilbur didn’t reply, of course, just gasped in another raspy breath. 

“I’ve got something for you… This’ll help you get better, promise…” 

Tommy wrapped an arm around Wilbur’s shoulders, helping him get a little more upright. Wilbur cried out as his injuries were jostled, but let himself be manhandled, too tired to fight it. 

Slowly, while making sure he wouldn’t choke on it, Tommy poured the entire bottle into Wilbur’s mouth. Wilbur didn’t get the message right away, resulting in some of the potion dripping down his chin, but eventually he did start actually drinking it.

Once he finished the bottle, Tommy laid him back down, tucking him in and setting the empty bottle aside. 

He didn’t let himself sleep.

He just watched the moon progress through the sky through a hole in the dirt wall, listened to the animals outside, and kept an eye on Wilbur. Every two hours, he’d shake Wilbur awake enough to feed him another potion, after which he’d go right back to staring at the forest.

After two potions, Wilbur kicked off his blankets, sweating buckets as his fever finally broke. Tommy cooled him off with rags soaked in cold water, until his forehead just felt warm instead of burning hot. 

After five potions, his breathing came easier. His coughs didn’t rattle his entire body anymore, and no more blood came up whenever he did cough.

After seven potions, his temperature was completely back to normal, and when Tommy took the bandages off, his wounds were scabbed over, no longer bleeding. 

After the ninth potion, the burns that covered his neck and shoulder had started to scar, and Wilbur’s face finally relaxed. He hadn’t coughed in at least an hour, and if it hadn’t been for the copious amounts of blood, phlegm, potion spills and dirt staining his clothes and skin, he’d have looked like he was just sleeping.

Tommy sighed, leaning his head onto the bed as he sat down on the floor. He’d been up for 24 hours straight, he’d slept terribly before that, and he was too exhausted to even lie down properly.

He just closed his eyes, and passed out instantly. 

* * *

When Wilbur woke up, nothing hurt.

For a second, he thought he might have died. This last week or so had been nothing but agony, why did it stop? His chest and arm no longer hurt, he no longer felt like he was breathing through a straw, he was just… fine. Sore, stiff and  _ ridiculously  _ hungry, but fine. 

He slowly sat up, wincing at the way he struggled with that simple task (how long had he been laying still…?), and looked around.

He was in a small, dirt hole, so cramped it didn’t even qualify as a starter base. If he were to stand up straight, his head would be scraping across the ceiling. He vaguely remembered waking up here a few times, but how did he…?

Everything came rushing back. Schlatt, the election, getting exiled from his own goddamn country, running, an arrow in his arm, an arrow in his chest, Tommy-

_ Tommy _ .

Wilbur looked around frantically, until his gaze landed on a mop of dirty blonde hair next to his leg.

Tommy was sitting on the floor, his head and arms resting on the bed. He looked absolutely exhausted, thick bags under his eyes, dirt and blood caked onto every inch of his body. He was fast asleep. 

Wilbur sighed, a fond smile creeping onto his face. Slowly, he stood up, surprised at the way his knees wobbled and his head swam when he did so, and lifted Tommy onto the bed. 

He didn’t even wake up when Wilbur tucked him in. God, he must have been running himself ragged. 

Wilbur stroked Tommy’s hair gently, then opened the chest. He scarfed down three salmon, then grabbed a shovel and dug into the wall his shaky memory told him led outside. 

He squinted against the sunlight and looked around the area. He was in a forest, at the foot of the steep hill their little hidey-hole had been dug into. A few pigs ran away when they spotted him, and he heard the flowing of water somewhere in the distance. 

Wilbur took a deep breath, then walked toward the river. 

Slowly, he stripped off his disgusting clothes and placed them in the water to soak, grimacing at the sheer amount of caked-on filth flaking off of them. Then, he stepped into the water himself. 

It was absolutely freezing, but he powered through it and scrubbed at his skin and hair until the dirt and blood and whatever the fuck else he was covered with washed away. He was very careful around his wounds, as they still ached something fierce, and he could tell the skin under the scabs hadn’t healed all the way yet. 

Parts of his hair were burnt and blackened and crumbled away when he dunked his head under. Looking at his reflection in the water, he winced at the short patches and bald spots all over the side of his head. He’d have to start wearing beanies again...

Once the cold got too much, Wilbur climbed out onto a large, sun-warmed rock and put his mostly dry underclothes back on. He solemnly accepted that his coat was beyond saving, no amount of scrubbing could remove the stains and - more importantly - the  _ stench  _ of days of blood and infection, and the giant hole that had been burned into it didn’t help either. His trousers were damaged as well, but they weren’t as gross, and could probably be fixed by sewing a few patches on. He didn’t know where his hat went. Probably dropped it somewhere. 

Wilbur retreated back into their little shelter, silent as to not wake Tommy up. He found some string in the corner of the chest, as well as a few iron ingots. He used the ingots to fashion himself a pair of shears, sharpened a tiny bone until it could function as a needle, and went back to the rock by the river. 

Carefully, he cut squares out of the least disgusting bits of his coat, washed them again, then used the string to stitch them over the holes in his trousers. It hurt to cut up his coat, but he didn’t exactly have the luxury to be sentimental. He didn’t have the luxury for  _ anything _ anymore… A hole in a hill in the middle of fucking nowhere was about as spartan as it got. 

As he made careful, even stitches, his mind wandered, and he began to plan. 

Their first worry would be long-term shelter. They weren’t welcome anywhere anymore, they’d been banished from L’manburg and had voluntarily cast themselves out of the Dream SMP. Other than those empires, the nearest other server was Hermitcraft, but that would be a five month hike through the wilderness, assuming the person walking it was well-equipped, healthy and in top form. Wilbur was weak, tired, and he could still feel the strain whenever he breathed in too deep. He imagined Tommy wasn’t doing much better. Plus… considering the amount of shit they caused, he wasn’t sure if the Hermits would even let them in. 

So, they’d have to keep living out here, in the wilderness. Not very dignified, but it would have to do. Expanding their base wouldn’t be too hard, and it would allow them to set up a more stable food source. 

Then came step two. Taking back L’manburg. 

Wilbur sighed, making another stitch. If surviving out here felt like an uphill battle, taking back L’manburg felt like reaching the top of the hill and seeing the gigantic fucking mountain still left to climb. Schlatt… Schlatt was powerful, like Wilbur had been. But unlike Wilbur, Schlatt sought to  _ expand _ his power. 

He’d picked up shards of Tommy’s angry rants, seething about how Schlatt took down the walls and burned down the flag and was looking to start another war, and his fever-riddled mind just fucking  _ ran  _ with that information to give it a leading role in his nightmares. 

_ wilbur was in chains, schlatt grinning down at him, his fingers around wilbur’s throat, while the world burned around him and everyone, everyone, tommy, tubbo, fundy, eret, dream, phil, techno, everyone he’d ever loved died around him, begging him to save them, screaming at him that this was all his fault, and he could do nothing but watch as the sky burned and the rivers ran red and he couldn’t breathe and schlatt just  _ **_laughed-_ **

Wilbur gasped as the needle slipped, pricking into his finger. He shook the memory of the dream from his head, ignoring the way his hands trembled as he sucked on his pricked finger, waiting for the bleeding to stop before resuming his efforts. 

Nightmares notwithstanding, he had to come up with a strategy. They needed weaponry, they needed allies, they needed… They needed to get the people back on their side. Quackity and George were a lost cause, Eret… he didn’t know about Eret, but Tubbo, Niki and Fundy were still loyal to him. At least, that’s what he hoped. 

Wilbur tied off the string, tugged on the patch to make sure it wasn’t going to fall off, then stood up and pulled his pants back on. The patches held, somehow, and he sighed in relief as he closed his eyes, soaking up the warmth of the sun. He’d been absolutely freezing for so long, both from the river and the fever, so it felt wonderful to be warm again. 

He wished he had his guitar with him. It was probably still in his room in L’manburg. Maybe Niki hid it somewhere. Maybe Schlatt smashed it. Either way, he was sans instrument for the foreseeable future, and his lungs weren’t down for singing at the moment.

So he began to hum. 

It started as an improvised melody. Then, it moved on to a more familiar tune, one he’d been writing before everything went to shit and that he couldn’t remember the lyrics to. 

Then, he realized he’d started to hum L’manburg’s anthem, and quickly moved on to a different song. 

“...Wil…?”

Wilbur startled out of the comfortable state he’d lulled himself into, shooting upright and immediately regretting it as he felt his entire torso protest heavily against that decision. As soon as he’d gotten his breath back, he turned around, staring at the source of the voice.

Tommy had poked his head out of the hole in the wall, his hair standing up in every direction, a look of pure disbelief on his face. 

“...Tommy…” Wilbur muttered. He quickly slid off his rock and walked towards Tommy, trying not to show the unsteadiness in his legs. “Hey, how… How are you feeling?”

“How am  _ I-? _ ” Tommy choked out. “You’re asking ME how I’M feeling?! The fuck is wrong with you?!” 

Wilbur’s face turned red. “I- I was just worried, I woke up and you were sleeping, so- Tommy, where the hell even  _ are _ we?!”

“We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, Wil! Isn’t that- This is YOUR fault! You called this election!” 

“Wh- hey!” Wilbur felt a spark of anger well up in his chest. “YOU’RE the one who convinced Dream to let Schlatt back in!”

“YOU called him in as a fuckin’ endorsement!” Tommy screamed back. “YOU let him put himself on the ballot! You got fucking SHOT, and I had to drag you through the entire forest, and I had to play NURSE for a full WEEK! YOU- You-”

Tommy hiccupped. “You almost  _ died-” _

And he burst into tears. 

Before Wilbur even realized what was happening, he was already rushing forward, wrapping his arms around Tommy and pressing him to his chest. Tommy, in turn, grabbed the back of Wilbur’s shirt and hugged him as tight as he could, crying harder than Wilbur had ever seen him cry. 

See, Tommy rarely ever cried. His standard response to anything bad happening was to get angry, rarely did he shed any tears. He didn’t cry when Eret betrayed them, he didn’t cry when Dream declared war, he barely even cried when he was being rushed back to L’manburg with Dream's arrow sticking out of his side. 

But this wasn’t just one event. This was an entire week of misery and pain and anger and fear coming out at once, so it wasn’t a surprise that Tommy cried like a child, clinging onto Wilbur’s shirt and sobbing so hard it left him gasping for air. 

Wilbur felt like crying too, but he didn’t. He just held onto Tommy, rubbing the boy’s back and running his fingers through his greasy hair as he cried himself out.

When Tommy’s sobs finally died down to sniffles, Wilbur pulled back, grabbing him by the shoulders and bending down to eye level. “Tommy, we... We've both made terrible mistakes, but we can’t afford to turn on eachother now,” he said solemnly. “It’s just us, now. You ‘n me against the world.”

Tommy nodded, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. “Yeah…” he whispered. 

Wilbur patted him on the shoulder. “Listen, you’re absolutely filthy right now. How about you go take a bath and wash your clothes, I’ll start setting up some more things inside for… more permanent living.” 

Tommy let out a watery laugh. “Okay, _dad_ ,” he scoffed, smiling slightly even though the tear stains were still fresh on his face. Wilbur smiled back, giving him a gentle push towards the river before heading back inside. 

* * *

Wilbur, to keep busy, aired out their little hole and cleaned out most of the grossness that had accumulated on the floor and the bed. It took a while, as he had to stop for breath often, but it was looking a lot better by the time Tommy came back, cheeks red from the cold and lacking a coat as well. 

Tommy showed him the note from Dream, showed him the supplies that he had given them. Wilbur felt a spark of hope light up in his chest. With Dream on their side… They might actually stand a chance. 

Tommy spent the rest of the day digging a tunnel downward. Wilbur had to stay outside to avoid breathing in too much stone dust, so at the end of the day, he’d fashioned Tommy a jacket and himself a long coat out of leather and wool, installed a door for their hidey-hole, and adopted a dog. 

(“His name is L’Dog.” “Wilbur, that’s stupid.” “You’re stupid.”)

But, eventually, Tommy gave an excited shout up the stairs, just as Wilbur was making his way down. “Wilbur, I found a ravine!” 

The underground ravine was swiftly lit up, and the exposed coal and iron mined. It was a bit narrow, but it was still a pretty sizable space. 

“...Tommy, I believe we’ve found our new home.”

Tommy grinned, slinging the pickaxe over his shoulder. “Thank god, I was not looking forward to digging out a whole base.”

Wilbur laughed. “Okay, what do we name this place?”

“L’mancave?” 

“Doesn’t feel right to be naming this after L’manburg… How ‘bout The Underground Resistance?”

“Way too long, big man. Okay, how ‘bout… Wait, no hold on, what about…” Tommy held out his hands dramatically. “Pogtopia!”

Wilbur couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. “Pogtopia?”

“Yeah! It’s got a ring to it, don’t it?”

“...Yeah. Pogtopia. I like it.”

The smile that spread across Tommy’s face was bright enough to light up the entire cave, and for a second, Wilbur felt like he’d never left home at all. 

* * *

It was two days later when Wilbur heard footsteps creep down the steps. 

He froze, instantly awake. Very carefully, he disentangled himself from a still sleeping Tommy, and grabbed his sword, gritting his teeth as his bare feet hit the freezing cave floor. Pogtopia was a lot of things, warm was not one of them.

Pressing himself against the stone wall, he listened as the footsteps got closer and closer, his mind quickly running through his options. He was currently in his underclothes, armed with only a sword, with an attacker on the approach. He should have woken Tommy up. Too late for that now, though.

The footsteps got closer and closer, and Wilbur could now hear breathing. He clenched his teeth, gripped his sword… and dove out from behind the wall, taking a wild swing. 

Almost instantly, his sword flew out of his hands and he was pinned down on the floor, a blade inches away from his throat. Wilbur let out a panicked yelp, struggling for a minute, then freezing in place, chest heaving. 

“...Wilbur, what the hell?”

Pink hair, tied back in a braid. A red cloak. A pig mask. 

“...Techno?” Wilbur wheezed. 

Techno got his weight off of Wilbur’s ribcage, shoved his sword back in its sheath and pulled him to his feet. 

That was the exact moment Tommy came charging in, in his underclothes as well, hair standing upright, iron axe in his hands. “GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU- Techno?!”

Techno rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Anyone else wanna threaten me with weapons then dramatically say my name?” 

“Techno, how…” Wilbur coughed, his still-recovering lungs not appreciating the weight of a grown man being placed upon them. “How did you even know we were here? How did-?”

“Got a letter from Dream,” Techno said, inspecting his nails. “He said you two might need some help, so here I am. What’s happenin’ here?”

Wilbur and Tommy looked at eachother. “...let’s get dressed, first,” Tommy said, rubbing his eyes. “‘s a long story.”

And a long story it was, but by the time it was finished, Wilbur was solidly pissed off, in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be up until now. “We gave up  _ everything _ for L’manburg,” he seethed, pacing back and forth across the bottom of the ravine. “We gave up friendships, we gave up alliances with some of the most powerful people on this server, and Schlatt just… Just ripped away everything we fought for!” 

Techno nodded. “Startin’ over from scratch… Alright. Anything we currently need?”

Wilbur sighed, tugging at the edge of his woolen beanie. “We’re gonna need food, hunting isn’t sustainable and the supplies Dream sent are starting to run out already.”

“Can do,” Techno said. “I’ve been doing nothin’ but farmin’ potatoes for the past four months, just give me some dirt and a hoe and I’ll get a supply goin’.”

Wilbur looked at him oddly. “...right. Thanks, Techno. Okay, we’ll also need more armor, more weapons, all of that. Dream only sent enough for one person.” 

“I can do that,” Tommy quickly said. “I’ll see if I can get us an ender chest, that way we can access all our gear. And if we don’t have enough, I can mine out the rest.”

“Okay, that’s good, Tommy, thank you.” Wilbur sighed. “I guess… I can do intel. I’ll see if I can get a hold of Tubbo, Fundy or Niki, maybe they’d be willing to do some spying on the inside.”

“And then?” Techno asked, already digging through his pack.

Wilbur chuckled nervously. “Then we’ll have to… take back... L’manburg.”

A slow, dangerous grin spread across Techno’s face as he looked up. 

“Did someone say rebellion?” 

“YEAH!” Tommy shouted, jumping to his feet. “REBELLION!” 

“I-uh…” Wilbur chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I mean, I agree, but I don’t know if _now_ is the best time to-”

“Would you rather wait ‘till Schlatt is standing at our doorstep with a TNT cannon?” Tommy deadpanned. “It’s now or never. We’ve got Pogtopia, we’ve got The Blade, we’ve got all we need to take down Schlatt!” 

“I’m always down for overthrowing democratically elected leaders.”

Wilbur felt the ever-present tightness in his chest, the wounds that still ached, and the unhealthy cocktail of negative emotions broiling in his stomach. He looked at his compatriots, seeing them stare back hopefully, that same fire in their eyes as he saw at the very start of L’manburg, as he signed the Declaration of Independence, holding it up for all to see. 

“Y’know what, Mister Innit,” A grin spread across his face. “Maybe I am feeling a little rebellious today.”


End file.
